


Sherlock Crossovers that are Begging to Be Written

by ell



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, James Bond (Movies), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Major character brought back to life, Multiple Crossovers, Season/Series 03 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 17:43:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ell/pseuds/ell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic contains spoilers for season 3. See notes for summaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Christ I miss the cold war

**Author's Note:**

> After watching Sherlock Series 3, several crossovers are begging to be written.
> 
> The first of course is the now-canon reference to Mycroft as part of MI6 and the canon reference to Bond and M. Note that this canon reference was in the form of a word on the screen that appeared for about 2 seconds and I, for one, think the information may have been faulty. Regardless, it's fun for the purposes of Bond.

"Christ, I miss the old M." Mycroft pours generously from a somewhat dusty bottle into two crystal snifters. He hands one to Gareth Mallory.

"I miss her, too, Mycroft," Mallory replies as they raise their glasses.

"But you're stuck with me at the moment, and I cannot authorize this one, regardless of how very much I want to," Mallory continues.

"Just send in a double-0 and be done with it. Isn't that what they're for?"

"Not in this case, I'm afraid. He's too high-profile. We can't afford to leave this one up to a blunt instrument like Bond."

"It'll have to be Sherlock, then. But Gareth, I cannot control all the variables on this one. I cannot guarantee . . . I cannot be certain . . . of the end game."

"I know, Mycroft. But desperate affairs require desperate measures, however painful it may be."

"I won't have any more brothers left to sacrifice for Queen and country, you know." 

"I am sorry, Mycroft. I wish there were some other way, but Magnussen must be stopped." Mallory rests a hand on Mycroft's slumping shoulder and squeezes briefly.

"If wishes were horses," Mycroft says as he sits heavily and pours himself another glass of M's Scotch.


	2. No Such Agency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This fic contains spoilers for season 3. See notes for summary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is maybe less obvious, but really, ex-CIA who was then working "freelance"? This has Nick Fury written all over it. Meet Mary Morstan, former Agent of SHIELD.

"Mary? Mary? There's a strange American at the door and he's asking for you. He says he knows you. He says his name's Coulson. Shall I invite him in or shoot him?" John smiles as he deliberately places his right hand in his jacket pocket.

"Coulson? Phil Coulson?" Mary asks from the sitting room. "Then shoot him, the real Coulson's dead."

John starts to pull his weapon from his pocket as the stranger speaks again, voice rising a bit as he shouts, "Mary! I swear to you, it's really me this time and not a bionic clone! Is he really going to shoot me?"

Mary joins them at the door and looks the stranger over critically. John stares as she throws her arms around the stranger and hugs him.

"Oh my God, Phil! You're not dead! How could you let me think you were for so long, you terrible man?"  
"I'm sorry, Mary. Need to know. The clearance level on this was so high that they didn't even tell _me_ that I wasn't dead for almost three weeks."

John stares quizzically at them. "You two. You were in the CIA together, weren't you?"

"No!" They both shout emphatically, in unison.


	3. Tin Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is extremely spoilery for His Last Vow. Proceed with caution. Also contains some serious crack. Universally speaking. 
> 
> Doctor Who crossover. 
> 
> See notes for summary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sally Donovan did not get enough screen time this series. The Doctor needs her help. Also, Eleven and the Master never got to interact. This addresses that as well...
> 
> If any of these vignettes catch your fancy, feel free to consider them as plotbunnies free to a good home.

"Sally Donovan?" asks the man with the floppy hair and silly tie as he walks up to her. "The Sally Donovan? Who made that excellent arrest in that Waters gang incident – case – investigation – thing?" He attempts to steer her down the street with a hand on her arm. She stands firm.

"Yeah. I'm not talking to reporters. Wait for the press conference," she says. She can at least give Lestrade that much.

"Who, me? No, don't be silly. Haven't I showed you my ID yet? No? I haven't? Well, it's right here. In my pocket. Somewhere. Ah yes, here it is. I'm . . ." He looks at the paper in his hand and then back at her. "I'm Detective Deputy Chief Constable David Bowie. Not that one, of course, the other one. Me." The warrant card that he flashes at her is fumbled it back into his pocket before she gets a good look. "David Bowie is famous in this universe, isn't he?"

"What?" Sally's a bit grateful to Sherlock Holmes at the moment for giving her so much experience with fast-talking freaks. 

"David Bowie? Glam rock? Lovely singing voice? Oh well, no matter. I'm here, Sally Donovan, I'm here because I need your help. Things are happening. Big things. And we need to stop them, you and I." He continues to walk, fast, and she can't help it. Curiosity compels her along.

"What things? And I can't go off with you just like that. I've got a job that I'm in the middle of doing." Sally stops once more and begins to turn back.

"Yes, of course you do. But that won't matter if you don't come with me right now. And besides, I'm your superior officer. I've cleared it with HQ. Or something."

"Right. So what is this big thing? That we're supposed to be doing?" She's still sceptical. He's like no deputy constable she's ever seen and this. It just doesn't make any sense. He stops them in front of a pub. The telly's tuned to football.

"Watch," he says. "Three, two, one…"

 _"Did you miss me?"_ The laughing face on the screen, on all the screens, is familiar.

"Oh my God! But he's dead. I saw him die. I saw the body. In the morgue. The back of his head was gone." Sally reels back from the screen. "Wait. How did you know this would happen?" He's part of it. Moriarty's network. He must be. Otherwise how would he have know what would happen before it did?

He sees the change in her demeanor. "What? No. I'm not working with him. Like I said, I'm here to stop him. And we don't have much time. So come on, Sally Donovan, time to save the planet!" He grabs her hand and she lets him pull her along at not quite a run. They turn the corner and he stops in front of something Sally hasn't seen in years outside of a museum.

"What is that?" she asks.

"I should think you would know that, you being a police officer and everything."

"Yes, I know what it is, but what's it doing here and why are you going in it?"

"This is an emergency. Isn't that what these are for?" He steps inside, pulling her along. "Welcome to my tin can!" He throws his arms wide and grins.

"It's, it's . . ." She stares around her in wonder.

"Yes, it is. Bigger on the inside." He starts flipping levers on a glowy thing in the centre of the space.

"You're not Deputy Chief Constable Bowie, are you?" She's less freaked out that she probably should be.

"No, I'm not. You can call me the Doctor." He bows. Or curtseys. Whatever it is, it's disarming and sort of adorable, the way his limbs jiggle about and then rearrange themselves back into a semblance of order.

"All right, Doctor. What is going on? What do we do now? Why me?"

"That man. That man on all the screens. That's not Moriarty. That’s the Master. We have to stop him. I need your help because you know the players in this version of events."

"This version? What on earth do you mean?"

"In my universe, Sherlock Holmes is fictional. He's the product of a writer called Arthur Conan Doyle."

"Arthur Conan Doyle? The one who wrote the Wendell Sherrinford mysteries? You're not making any sense."

"Probably not. That's what happens when you switch universes, no matter how close they seem to be. We've got to hurry, the crack's not going to stay open much longer."

"Crack? In the universe?"

"Yes. The master slipped through it somehow and," he stops speaking and looks puzzled. "And I can't quite remember the next bit, which is odd, but no matter, it's not quite like a pocket universe, more like an inexact clone resulting from leftover energy, but that's not important. I'm not supposed to be here, and neither is he.

"So, Sally Donovan, you and I are going to find him, send him back where he belongs, then drop you off back home, then I go off where I belong and all is right again with your universe. In theory. What do you say to that?"

"Do I have any other options?" Sally knows what the answer's going to be. Besides, this is amazing and she's the one here for once, the one who got picked and not passed over because her temper was too short or her hair too frizzy or any of a thousand other reasons to leave the black woman behind. She looks the odd, nonsensical, shouldn't-exist man in the eye and smiles at him.

He pushes a button and smiles back, "well, then, the game is on!"


End file.
